For the Second Time
by KawaiiDino
Summary: What with the alcohol flowing, they were bound to meet once more. John/oc. Sequel to 'Feeling Your Heartbeat'.


The second time John Watson and Abigail Jones met they were both drunk. It wasn't intentional, just that she was out on a hen night and he was out on a stag do and somehow the two managed to meet up in a random pub during the drunken adventures that seemed to make up their Friday evenings.

"You!" John's heart nearly jumped out of his chest, from fright, as arms were thrown around his shoulders and he was suddenly engulfed in the loveliest smell imaginable. "Oh, good, it is you. I have done this to several other men tonight. All of whom were most certainly not the one I was looking for." She gave him a sloppy, sideways smile before placing an equally sloppy, sideways kiss on his ruddy cheek.

All the men around him hooted and whistled as he returned the kiss, though his was rather better placed, on her mouth. Both grinned.

"Well, hello to you too. How is it we always seem to meet when alcohol is involved?" he asked her, eyebrows rising in question.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe we won't like each other sober?" she couldn't help a giggle or two at the sudden drop in his face, "Or not?"

"I should hope not. We seemed to get on fine after Sher-Sherlock decided to give you a welcoming shower." John was starting to feel somewhat unsteady on his feet. Perhaps a barstool would be appropriate. Or another drink. He really did prefer the second option over the first.

"Abs! Jen's taken one too many dives into the ladies. We're going to try and get her to come home now. Can you-?" Laura, Abigail's sister-in-training, quickly shut her mouth and widened her eyes at her friend in a man's arms. "Nevermind. Will see you on Monday, 8 AM sharp, yeah?" and with that she turned on her heel and went to retrieve the lucky lady that they were all so pleased to be absolutely wrecked for.

"Err, sorry about that. Hen night." Abigail shrugged slightly, her explanation faltering on her lips.

"Oh no worries," his smile widened, eyes crinkling, as he jabbed his thumb behind him to a group of raucous men doing shots at the other side of the bar, "Stag do."

He was being rather devastating with that smile of his; Abigail couldn't stop looking at those lips. And John was doing nothing to help the matter because he was just watching her watch his lips, smile growing all the way.

"Maybe we should, maybe move to a quieter spot?" she looked up at him, eyes darker than before. Surprise shone through as he pursed his lips and furrowed his brow.

"I, I don't think that would be such a good idea." He uncurled her hands from where they were still holding onto his shoulder.

"Of, of course. Maybe just another drink then." It was difficult for Abigail to stay on top of the situation when all she wanted was to drag John into a corner and pretend nobody else was around. It wouldn't do though; she knew she would feel bad about it in the morning. Stumbling to his after a party was different to her dragging him into corners in random pubs.

He took her hand in his and led her to an open spot, between couples. It was a tight squeeze but Abigail manoeuvred her way to the front. The woman next to her was leaning over rather heavily, glass of something golden tipping dangerously in Abigail's direction. The woman gave her a glassy smile before letting out a loud sob and knocking back whatever was in her glass.

"Another!" she shouted through the mascara running tracks down her cheeks, to no one in particular before a man came and dragged her away, muttering about never letting her out _ever again_.

"Pint?" Abigail asked John, as he took the crying woman's spot. He nodded, a small smile still playing at his lips. The air between them was growing awkward, thick and heavy with doubt.

Trying to clamber onto the low step that encircled the bar, to make herself more noticeable to the barmen, she started, "Look, about the cor-, corner comment-?"

"What corner comment?"

"Uhm…?"

"Oh, you mean the one about a quieter spot?"

She could only nod, cheeks burning brightly in the low light.

"If I'd known you meant a corner I may have been more willing." His cheeky side was starting to jump out, the longer the alcohol had to sink into his system.

"Don't joke about this. I was being very serious." It was at this point that the barman sauntered towards the overly-eager-for-her-drink Abigail and took their orders. Moments later, the two were trying to figure out where to go from _here_, drinks in hand.

"So…" she tried, lamely.

"So…" he sipped from his drink, earning a giggle from Abigail as his pint gave him a lovely foam moustache.

"You've something on your face."

"Oh do I?" and with that he leaned into her and planted another kiss on her lips.

John Watson was awoken, yet again by a scream. Only this time he was only semi-naked and he managed to stub his toe on his way out of the bedroom. It wasn't his bedroom. In fact, it wasn't even a bedroom. Who had a coffee table and couch in their bedroom?

"Abigail?" he shouted through gritted teeth, trying to ease the pain in his big toe by hopping around like a loon.

Another scream.

"Abigail!"

"Kitchen! HURRY!" that was all John needed to race through the tiny, unfamiliar flat to where Abigail stood atop a kitchen chair, waving a tea towel at the windowsill.

"Kill it!" she screeched.

"Kill what?" he was torn between bemusement and bewilderment.

"The huge as a bloody house spider sitting in my sink!" _Oh._

John slowly made his way into the sunny little kitchen, to where the lady of the house was frantically pointing.

"Kill it! NOW!" she had started hopping from one foot to the other, arms pulled up to her chest.

"Alright, alright. Just stop jumping around on that chair. We don't need a concussion on top of a hangover." He edged closer and closer to the sink, squinting at the sunlight. Beside the only dirty dish sat a spider the size of bottle cap. It didn't look particularly threatening.

"Serious-?" before he could manage an eye roll, the tea towel was flung at his head and Abigail stomped her foot, "Alright, alright." He said again, opening the tap so the water washed the spider down the drain.

"Is it dead?" Abigail whimpered, refusing to leave the safety of her chair as he closed the tap.

"It's gone." He said, patiently waiting for her to descend. He couldn't help smiling at the sight of a grown woman, clad in his shirt from the night before nonetheless, trying to look dignified after a spider had made her jump onto her kitchen chair and squeal like a little girl.

"Okay." Uncertainly she climbed down, feeling like hundreds of hairy spiders were running all over her skin. She shuddered at the thought.

"Should I expect to always be woken up by your dulcet tones?" he teased.

"Who said anything about waking up near me after this?" she shot back.

John didn't answer her right away. He wasn't quite sure what to say. They had slept together twice, after having only seen each other twice. What were they supposed to be?

"I, I was only joking…kind of. Sorry." She looked like she might cry, but quickly got a grip on her finer feelings.

"It's okay."

"Do you want some coffee? Something to eat?" his stomach churned at the idea of food, and he was far too tired still to be thinking about ingesting caffeine in any way, shape, or form. So he shook his head and reached out a hand to her. After all, that was how they met.

"Okay, so let's see, uuuuhm, I guess Paddington Bear. What? Stop it! Don't laugh at that!" John was trying to keep a serious face as Abigail howled with laughter at his answer. They were trying to 'get to know one another better', seeing as they kept meeting and had already been rather too forward with one another for reasons unknown to both.

"I'm sorry," she wiped at her eyes, "It's just, that's so cute. I should have known, what with all those jumpers strewn about your room."

"Those are all manly jumpers. Made for manly men." Abigail snorted into her glass, John having caught her, as she was about to take her final sip.

"So what makes you feel better then? When you're all down and low and life doesn't seem to have the potential of looking up any time soon?" he rambled, following her example, and draining his glass.

She took a moment to think about it, "Socks."

"Socks?"

"Yes, socks." She repeated slowly, "Especially my stripy ones." John chuckled safely; glad he didn't have any of his drink left to choke on.

"That's, that's adorable?"

"Hey! It's a totally viable pick-me-up! If my feet are nice and warm then so am I and then I feel better already. Besides, my mum always sends a pair down for Christmas and my birthday." This sobered the man across from her. The same look he'd been throwing her way all evening was back again; it was as if he was considering her character, all gentle and trying to be subtle. It made her stomach flutter; made her feel like a schoolgirl all over again.

"Hmm, okay, fair enough. Stripy socks and Paddington bear. We make quite the pair of adults, now don't we?" Both laughed, garnering the attention of the last few tenants that were unwilling to return home.

Abigail shifted uneasily in her seat, "I should get home. It's getting quite late." She picked up her clutch and checked to make sure her phone, wallet, and keys were all still in place.

"I suppose I should head out as well. Wouldn't want Sherlock to set fire to something with an experiment." He tried to be nonchalant about the idea of going home, but all that was waiting for him was a messy kitchen and a cold bed.

"Uhm, well maybe…" she trailed off, looking at her feet.

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe mine?" she blushed bright red; John could see the colour seep into her hairline.

"Alright." His smile was luminescent, as she slowly looked back up.

"Really?"

"Of course. A pretty girl with a penchant for stripy socks is asking me back to hers, and I'm meant to say no?"

"Well, I uhm, yeah. I didn't mean 'mine' as in ' let's get it on'. Just, maybe just for some more conversation…" she was looking at her shoes again. This was mortifying! What was she doing! What was she saying!

"That would be…nice." His smile sealed the deal.

As much as they were only going back to Abigail's for some more light-hearted conversation, they couldn't, wouldn't, stop the frantic kisses that took over once they were out of the cab. It was all limbs and the jingling of keys and tossing of coats and scarves and shoes and various other items of clothing before they landed in a giggling heap on her living room floor.

"This is _not_ making conversation, Doctor Watson." Abigail shimmied out of her blouse, sitting up in her dear doctor's lap. He only replied with a sly smirk, making quick work of his own shirt.

It was something else entirely, to sleep on a couch with someone else beside you, after so many nights of falling asleep to trash TV in the early hours of the morning.

"Should we move to the bedroom?" murmured John.

"I doubt I'd make it to the stairs." Replied Abigail.

"There are stairs! Nevermind then." John snuggled further into her arms with a content sigh.

"So glad we agree on the stairs, good doctor." The words barely made it past Abigail's lips before she was out like a light.

There was a large bed in the small room, overflowing with the comfiest duvet John had ever seen. Not to mention the pillows stacked neatly against the wall-playing-as-a-headboard. He didn't even wait for his host to say 'go!' before ripping back the covers and jumping in, making himself at home. He could hear her chuckling, and then there was the dip in the bed before she joined him, shyly shifting as close to his back as she could get. Her arm slowly made its way over his side to his hand lying idly on his stomach. It was becoming their silent _thing_, when words failed either of them a simple holding of the hand came to the rescue. He gave hers a slight squeeze.

"John?"

"Mmmm?"

"Would you like to go out for lunch? Or dinner?" her breath tickled the back of his neck.

"Today?"

"If possible, I suppose."

He could feel her start to pull away from him. His mind was kicked into overdrive as her simple questions sunk in. _Say something!_

"Sure, I'd love to."

"Great." She was back to being pressed flush against him, and he could feel her grin on the nape of his neck.


End file.
